


It's Always Been Just Him and Me Together

by patroclys



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s10e12 Gallavich!, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22867645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/patroclys/pseuds/patroclys
Summary: "Hey, asshole, were you not listening? We're doing a murder thing here."Of course, no one’s listening to him, Mickey silently, bitterly muses. No one ever fucking listens.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 11
Kudos: 303





	It's Always Been Just Him and Me Together

**Author's Note:**

> I get very frustrated every time I rewatch 10x12 because no one acknowledges Mickey in the scene where he's handcuffed on the washing machine. I guess this is my fix-it where all of his anger and defeat gets acknowledged. Also Ian n Mickey kissin >.< Just a lil. 
> 
> Title from Mitski's Me and my Husband <3

“Look, I love you. I love you. The son of a bitch is never gonna let me be happy. He needs to die. Today."

"What about the Polish Doll?" Lip inserts

"Hey, asshole, were you not listening? We're doing a murder thing here." Of course, no one’s listening to him, Mickey silently, bitterly muses. No one ever fucking listens. 

"It's that Polka house, right?"

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Everyone’s gone –– Lip and Debbie off to secure a venue in whatever fucked up way they can manage, Sandy upstairs dealing with Debbie’s underage hook-up, Kev and V continuing to haul furniture and beer as if a wedding was still fucking happening today.

Only Ian and Mickey remain. Ian and Mickey. God, that's all he wanted, really. And, of course, Ian knows. That's why he's here, moved from his seat at the kitchen counter to stand at the washing machine, between Mickey’s hanging legs, rubbing away the tightness of the handcuffs on Mickey’s wrist and dropping kisses over his face. 

"I just-" Mickey tries to get out, before a bout of frustration steals his words away. He's already said so much, said more about his family, his mom than any of the other Gallaghers should ever get to know. And they didn't even listen. 

"Mick, I love you." It tumbles out of Ian's lips, the lips still peppering kisses. "I love you so much and I don't know what to do here." Ian sighs into Mickey's cheek, where he lets his head rest. It's all they can do, be close to each other. 

"But you can't kill your dad," Ian continues. "Not yet, at least. Just got you back." With every word Ian leans more into Mickey, his weight supplementing all the words of comfort he hasn't yet figured out how to give. "Need you," Ian adds on, in a sort of mumble that only someone's whose face is squished into another's could produce. 

Mickey, whose wrists are still held by Ian, takes his hands, slowly, out of his fiancé's grasp so that they can reach, instead, for the back of his neck, for the soft curl of red hair on a pale neck. 

There is so much inside him, inside both of them, Mickey is sure. Words, here, don’t seem to be quite enough. So rather than saying anything –– because what more was there to say? –– he guides Ian's head, still leaning against his cheek, to meet him in a kiss. They were never good with words. Words didn't come easy. Sometimes words hurt to get out. But in kisses, they could really hear each other. Everything angry and desperate inside of them, it found solace here, in their own in-between. 

After a moment, the two separate, breathless. It was not a particularly heated kiss. Not one of those that led to them fucking on the nearest, semi-private surface they could find. Though Mickey really did love that kind. This was a different kind that left them short of breath. The kind where all the yelling and punching and crying that, years ago, would have manifested literally, is exchanged between them. They give it all to each other, and take it, in turn. Now, they are just defeated. Breathless and defeated. 

Lip and Debbie aren’t going to get that venue, Mickey could never be that lucky. And even if they do, how would they make it work as a gay couple in a reputably homophobic establishment? Mickey needs a perfect wedding. He needs to walk down the aisle and see that dumb fucking smile on Ian's face. He can’t fake shit, play along with whatever fucked up plan the Gallaghers are devising just to get some marriage papers signed. 

When Mickey finally speaks, it’s soft, tentative. He’s afraid that his voice might break or, maybe, he might break if he hears anything too loud. This morning was already loud enough. He thinks, probably for the first time in his life, that he’s fragile, that all of this fighting might actually be breaking him.

"I don't know what to do either." It was barely a whisper. Sometimes, words are meant only for Ian. Because he knows Ian will listen. 

They used to never talk. Of course, it's kind of hard to share things with other people when you, who regularly has a dick up his ass, and enjoys it, can’t even call yourself gay. But things changed, gradually, and Mickey began to talk more. It was easy, sometimes, when Ian would somehow run out of things to say and the silence just didn't feel quite right at that moment and there were just so many things that wanted to jump out of him. That's when he talked. 

Never explicitly, though. The bad things were hard to share, especially to that small, bubbly, redheaded boy he knew in the brightness of summer, at baseball dugouts and in corner store freezers. So he talked in jokes and fragments of memories. 

"Ay, I remember this one time... Fuck, it was crazy. My dad took us on one of his runs and, well, we all came back with at least one black eye and some bruised bones. Fucking crazy. Anyways, fuck family vacations, man." 

But the good things were even harder. The nights his mom tucked him and Mandy into bed. Sang to them, sometimes, if their dad was passed out cold in another room. The way she loved them so much, but was always so scared, even if only in the back of her mind, of loving them too much. And then having to leave them. 

"Love this song, man." Mickey sighs while lighting a cigarette in the freezer of the Kash n Grab. They had just fucked for the second time that shift and a new song begins to hum on the store's radio. Ian raises his eyebrows, questioning. "My mom used to sing it to me n Mandy." And that was all he said. But it was a lot. It was a-fucking-lot. 

And Ian listened to it all, like a detective piecing together a murder, or rather, a murder of a childhood. That's why Ian knew Mickey better than anyone, at least anyone still around.

“We’re gonna get married, Mick. I’ll make sure we do. We’re gonna do this shit. Together. And it’s gonna be perfect.” And there Ian went insisting on hope. Even through murmured words, on this fucked up day, with Mickey sitting on a washing machine, half-way to drunkenness, fading handcuff marks on his wrists. Ian persists. The love of his life, the man that he loved more than anything, is here. And Ian hears him. Like he always does. 

The Gallaghers may not have listened. Maybe they thought Mickey was just impulsive and dramatic, as if years of abuse and torture have not culminated into this horrible fucking need to kill his dad. Maybe they thought that, yeah, we’re in the Southside, shit’s bound to go wrong, and we’ll make it work anyways. And maybe Ian sat there silent, only because words were never easy, and what was he going to say, across the miles of space between the kitchen counter and the washing machine. Maybe everything was just so much easier when they were close when wrist massages and kisses could speak poems of love and comfort. When an anger which had simmered down into defeat could be, at least, heard. 

Ian heard Mickey, even if no one else bothered. And so Mickey came to realize that something, somehow, somewhere, would be okay. If Ian was there with him.


End file.
